


Judas

by shameless_rogue



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Biblical References, M/M, a bit of fluff at some point I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7662844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shameless_rogue/pseuds/shameless_rogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So to whatever extent you may be concerned that someday we will clash; worried that, though today we be friends, someday you'll have no choice but to be my end... I wouldn't worry too much."</p><p>Flint wants to win the war. Silver is not willing to lose it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Judas

_“When Jesus had thus said, he was troubled in spirit, and testified, and said, Verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me. Then the disciples looked one on another, doubting of whom he spake. Now there was leaning on Jesus’ bosom one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved. Simon Peter therefore beckoned to him, that he should ask who it should be of whom he spake. He then lying on Jesus' breast saith unto him, Lord, who is it?”_

_John 13:21-25_

 

“Isn’t it funny how the events of not more than twenty-four hours can completely change a man’s state of mind?”

Flint did not look up from the log he was reading, the log of the ship they had almost entirely destroyed in the past few hours. He reached for his own notes, pulled a blank piece of paper closer to himself and wrote down a couple of abbreviations that only he was meant to ever understand. Silver, however, did not seem to be distracted by his obvious disinterest at all.

“Alright, I get that you’re not really in the mood for fun, but even you can admit that it is at least weird,” he went on. Flint managed to get a few more letters onto the paper but they looked astonishingly similar to the first letters of a sentence about all the various places Silver should have fucked himself in. And now he was walking closer, steadily and confidently despite the pain he probably still felt in his left knee; and when he leaned over Flint’s desk, placing his hands all over the precious papers, Flint gave up.

“The fuck are you trying to say?” he asked, looking up to face Silver’s self-satisfied grin, and suddenly he felt old and tired.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Silver got even closer to him, frustratingly close, “that I don’t think your opinion about me is the same as it was twenty-four hours ago.”

Flint let out an irritated growl and leaned back into his chair.

“I suppose, you insist on telling me what my opinion is, instead of letting me do my job.”

“Believe me, I really don’t want to annoy you,” Silver murmured, his voice so low that Flint should have leaned closer to him, had he been the least interested in what his quartermaster was about to say. “But I am almost certain that you will not simply do it for me, Captain.”

“Do what?” If Flint had been hoping to destroy the atmosphere Silver was trying to build, he had to realise now that two loud words were not enough to put the man off. Silver went on without showing any emotions except the dangerous curiosity he always had in his eyes when he talked like that.

“Do what you haven’t done since Mrs. Barlow’s death. Let yourself feel whatever you’re feeling.”

Flint raised one single eyebrow but did not say a word. Silver took a deep breath.

“Alright, this is going to sound weird, but. I know how you felt about me last night, you were irritated by my recklessness to anger you and amused by the way I did it, and eager to tell me both of these things. And today I saw you looking at me like an equal partner, and I believe this equality is beginning to scare you. But this is not exactly why I am here.” Silver’s lips twitched as an omniscient smirk spread across his face. “I am here because I believe it would be better for our partnership if you let out that frustration.”

“And how do you imagine I’m going to do this?” Flint leaned closer and Silver froze for a second. “Having you killed might not be the best for my reputation.”

“That’s why I wasn’t thinking about getting myself killed” Silver answered after successfully coming to himself. “Remember the three people we talked about last night? I am still not planning to be one of them; however, it seems to me like you found a way with them to handle said frustration. As you have said, at least two of them also were your partners in another—”

Flint himself did not notice when he moved but one second later he was standing up straight and holding Silver close, grabbing him with both hands by the collar of his coat.

“I did not allow you to ever mention that,” he hissed into his face. Silver smiled serenely.

“I’ve done quite a few things you never allowed me to do, Captain.”

His sword was lying on the desk, right next to Silver’s right hand. It would have been easy to take it, to lift it up, to stab Silver in the stomach before he could move and stop him. And Silver was almost lying on the desk too, which could have made it even easier for Flint to hold him in place, walk behind him and give him what he had literally asked for.

He released Silver and fell back into the chair.

“Captain?” for once, Silver seemed not to know what to say. Flint shut his eyes.

“Get out.”

Silver backed away from him.

 

_The night was cold and the beach seemingly empty but he knew they were watching him. Watching and not trying to kill, for now. They must have been curious about the man who had found a way into their tumbledown shelter._

_He had been holding his sheathed sword in his hand; now he dropped it, the only weapon he had brought here. A quiet thud was heard and sand flew into the air as it reached the ground. He cleared his throat and called out a questioning hello._

 

The next time Silver joined him in his cabin, they did not talk much. While Silver was walking towards the bed, he went to lock the door, and quietly ordered Silver to keep his mouth shut. Then he fucked him quickly and silently, and there were hips thrusting and teeth clenching and backs arching, and it left him feeling surprisingly empty.

When it was over, Silver settled down next to him, and shifted himself a bit to rest on his elbows.

“Don’t.” Flint had already interrupted when he was about to start talking.

“All I was trying to ask was how you were feeling.”

“Then that’s what you’re not going to ask.”

“How are you feeling?”

It took Flint some effort not to punch him in the face. Eventually, he rolled his eyes, climbed out of the bed and went to find a clean cloth. He poured some water onto it above the basin and wiped the sweat off his torso. Silver watched him with pure curiosity.

“Clean yourself.” Flint threw the wet cloth towards him and Silver, evidently, did not bother catching it. Flint rolled his eyes again and pulled his breeches up.

“Alright, that was it,” he said when he turned back to Silver. He was still lazily stretching himself in the bed. “Go.”

“Was that an order, Captain?” Silver got up finally, but only to walk close to him and rest his hands on Flint’s hips. Flint swept his hands off, his face still and emotionless.

“It was, if that’s what you need to get the hell out.”

Silver sighed theatrically and grabbed his clothes. Flint resisted the urge to help him with his trousers; he sat down behind his desk and started reading instead. A few minutes later he heard the soft pounding of Silver’s peg leg but it did not sound like he was walking towards the door—he was getting close to him, again.

A shadow fell upon his desk, it covered the notes he was trying to read through, and when he looked up, he saw Silver standing right next to him.

“What?” he asked huskily, and the smirk Silver gave him made him immediately regret having given a fuck about his presence. Silver put a light hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised. Flint waited until he heard the wooden door being slammed shut, and only then he let his face fall into his palms.

 

_“So you are telling me that you’re ready to uncover the only way your crew can be made vulnerable.”_

_“This is exactly what I’m saying.”_

_“And why the fuck are we supposed to believe you?”_

_He gave Eleanor Guthrie a cold look for interrupting the conversation he was trying to have with the governor, but she went on without the tiniest sign of having noticed it._

_“The last time we met you had sold the fucking Urca gold to another crew and were not willing to entirely reveal the contents of the schedule you had fucking burnt. Now, I don’t give a shit when and how you managed to gain Flint’s trust despite all that, but you’d better keep in mind that you never fucking gained mine.”_

_“Eleanor.” The governor touched her arm and she glanced at him, confused._

_“What?”_

_“It’s no trap.”_

_“How can you be so sure about that? You don’t know this man but I do and he’s not the right person to be trusted right now—”_

_“Miss Guthrie, if I may.” He was not sure if bringing her up short had been a good idea but now she was paying some attention to him, at least. “I knew when I came here that I was going to face these many concerns of yours, and I can clearly see the reasons behind them. However, if you let me speak now, I am most certain that you will find my help beneficial.”_

_Her stone-cold gaze fell upon him._

_“Speak.”_

 

“I suppose you know that the other half of the British Navy is coming for us, but aren’t you maybe forgetting who else we have enraged by holding back both Jack and the gold?”

“I suppose you know that I’m taking all this into consideration, but aren’t you maybe forgetting what else you could be doing with that chatty mouth of yours?”

“Cliché.” John laughed softly and kissed the side of his neck. “All I’m saying is, maybe you should start looking for some new allies.”

“We’ve got Nassau. We’ve got the Maroons. Hell, we’ve even got Teach. I don’t think there is anyone else on this Earth I could convince to support us.”

“You’re probably right. But what if I talked to them instead of you?”

“Talked to whom?” He stroked John’s hand gently. “There are no more possible allies I can think of. Unless you’re planning to talk the Spanish into taking our side.”

“Why, that would help for sure.” John grinned at him sadly and hugged him close. “I don’t want to lose this war, James.”

“We’re not going to lose it.”

The corner of John’s mouth twitched; it was a tiny movement, almost invisible, but it made Flint furrow his brows.

“You don’t believe me,” he said. There was no questioning tone in his voice; there was no emotion in it at all. John licked his dry mouth.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” he began carefully. “It’s just that it scares me to see that you may not be right. You see how few men we have left and how great their forces are at the same time; and you still can’t accept that they might be—that they might enjoy preponderance.”

“So you don’t believe me,” Flint repeated with a broken smile. John gently caressed his scalp.

“I don’t want you to be hurt,” he murmured. “Not physically, not emotionally, not anyhow. Not anymore.”

“Then don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not fucking talking about myself!” John detangled himself from Flint’s arms to stare into his face. “You don’t need me to get hurt, you can do it all by yourself. Christ, you would even get hurt if there was nobody in this world against you, and now you’re facing the union of two fucking royal navies!’

“So you are worried about me.”

“Yes.”

“Because you don’t believe me.”

“Fuck you, James.”

Flint laughed at him so that John would finally realise he had been joking; then he kissed him and climbed on top of him and a few minutes later it sounded _fuck me, James_.

“I’m going to win this war only to prove you wrong,” he whispered into his ear later, while John was still panting heavily under him.

“If you can fight as tirelessly as you fuck,” John cupped his face with one hand and placed a soft kiss in the corner of his mouth, “then I’m sure you will.”

Flint shook his head, grinning.

“You filthy little shit.”

 

_“You’re not surprised.”_

_“Have you been expecting me to be?”_

_“No, I think not.” He paused for a second, pondering how to resume. His captain’s eyes, Flint’s eyes,_ James’ _eyes looked glassy and blank. “But you are disappointed.”_

_“I am.”_

_Silence._

_“Why?”_

_“Because I should have known this was going to be your way of doing it. You could have done it anywhere, anyhow, at any time; and yet you chose to wait until it would hurt, and only then you did it. Which I should have known was going to happen.”_

_“Don’t you fucking tell me that you blame yourself even for this.”_

_“I’m not going to blame you. You laid your cards on the table a long time ago; it was me who decided not to care.”_

 

John caressed the cover of the book with such tenderness that Flint would never have expected to see from him, not even after the gentle touches they had shared in the past few weeks. But he would also not have expected himself to let anyone go near his books, so he was not acting the way he normally did, either—even though this only consisted of not trying to murder John for entering his cabin without being allowed to, instead of actually giving him the permission to look at his collection.

Flint cleared his throat and John turned to face him, his cheeks flushing red, the book he had been admiring still hugged close to his chest.

“Which one?” Flint asked simply, and he could see an anxious smile spread across John’s face.

“The Bible, actually.” He shrugged when Flint raised his eyebrows, looking confused. “I was curious, alright?”

Flint glanced at his bookshelf and nodded with a knowing smile. The Bible (King James Version, given by Miranda as a reminder to the life he could have shared with her) was standing in the place where he had expected it to be, on the very left end of the middle row. John blushed even more, then he gave in and handed the book to Flint.

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure how to ask about it,” he admitted. Flint stared at him in pure shock.

“Did you just say sorry for doing something you weren’t supposed to do?”

“Yeah, I guess.” John shifted his weight uncomfortably, but the movement only resulted in a painful groan as he strained his left leg too much. Flint dropped the book and reached out for him by instinct. He guided John to the bed, not giving a shit about his irritated protestation.

“Sit down,” he ordered and John obeyed, muttering one last “I swear I’m fine” under his breath. Flint put an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t you dare to kill yourself,” he said. John smiled at him unhappily.

“You know I won’t.”

“You know I know.” Talking about his leg for more than half a minute was obviously making John feel uncomfortable, so he had to change the topic fast. “So you’re curious about the Bible?”

“Well, I never quite understood the whole concept about Heaven and Hell, so I might as well start reading before the war kills me.”

Another answer Flint had not been expecting.

“I can explain you most of it, if you are actually interested,” he said hesitatingly, and John pulled him closer, buried his face in the crook of his neck, then nodded.

“But it will take you some time,” he added a second later. “The only story I know is the one about the traitor that hanged himself.”

“Judas?” Flint asked with a smile. “Yeah, that’s one way of describing his end.”

“Then tell me another.”

He did not know why speaking about sin and death made him feel so relaxed when he should have been working on the plan to keep Nassau now that she had been taken back from Rogers; but John was breathing slowly into his neck, the story had started to tell itself somehow, and Flint found himself doing nothing but listening to his own voice.

Then John opened his eyes and Flint huffed at the sudden thought that he had been sleeping the whole time.

“Where did you lose track?” was all he asked. John bit his lower lip, concentrating.

“When one of the nice guys denied him. Three times. Peter, I think?”

“You really aren’t familiar with the Bible,” Flint settled, and prepared himself to start it all over when John interrupted him.

“Huh?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

Flint felt even more confused than before.

“Sorry for what?”

“For taking that book. You didn’t check which one it was, did you?” Flint shook his head; there had been no need to check. He had known anyway.

John gulped hard and Flint suddenly realised what a huge effort it must have been for him to apologise for the second time this afternoon. What a huge effort it must have been for him not to ask about the book earlier.

“It was the one from him. The _Meditations._ ” John was trying really hard to hide his face completely in Flint’s chest. “And I am very sorry.”

Flint stole a glance at the book laying down the floor, the calligraphic letters on its cover sparkling in the golden beams of the descending sun. Something small and weak inside him wanted to rush through the cabin, pick it up and clean it from the dust it had fallen into; but his better part felt ashamed for concentrating on anything that was not John.

 _Know no shame._ This was the first time that these words made everything seem more shameful.

Flint tore his gaze away from the book; and when he looked back at John’s agonized face, he could not help smiling.

“How long have you planned to sneak in here and look into that book?” he asked.

“Quite.”

“And how did you like it?”

John was working really hard on avoiding eye contact with him. “It was very—romantic.”

Flint grabbed his chin with one hand, and carefully forced him to look into his eyes. “And that romance is exactly what I don’t want you to try and give me, do you understand?”

 

_“Simon Peter said unto him, Lord, whither goest thou? Jesus answered him, Whither I go, thou canst not follow me now; but thou shalt follow me afterwards. Peter said unto him, Lord, why cannot I follow thee now? I will lay down my life for thy sake. Jesus answered him, Wilt thou lay down thy life for my sake? Verily, verily, I say unto thee, The cock shall not crow, till thou hast denied me thrice.”_

_John 13:36-38_

 

The night was dark and sweaty, the moon mostly covered by grey clouds, and John’s hand trembling as he guided Flint down the path, to the beach where the crew would be waiting for them. The shadow of the fort that fell upon them looked like that of some supernatural creature,

reaching for them, ready to quench its thirst with human blood; and suddenly he almost understood why darkness terrified so many of his men.

He felt another tremor come from John’s hand; he stroked his palm encouragingly before letting John’s fingers slip away. They had arrived.

On the beach, right next to a steep cliff there was his crew—not the Maroons, not the men of Teach, not even Rackham or Bonny; only those who had served under him on the Walrus. They were standing in a crowded bunch, forming a close group around one man; Billy, most likely. Flint could not make out their faces as they were hidden by the shadows, but he did notice that they had been waiting in complete silence. Just like John had ordered them to.

Billy stepped forward and the men let him go; he hurried along the path to grab John’s arm and put it forcefully around his shoulder. There may have been a pissed of glance thrown at Flint for not helping John himself, but Flint did not find it as concerning as he normally did. Adrenaline was seething inside his veins and blood pulsing in his ears, the final result of fighting Rogers’ men who had been left in the fort to protect it; and he could hardly concentrate on whatever was happening around him.

Also, Billy had not been there when John had told him to fuck off for trying to help him not break his (so far) unscathed right leg in the woods.

“Did any of you get injured?” Billy asked in a low voice.

“Only a few cuts.”

“And one deeper cut just above your spleen,” John added, and Billy offered his free arm to help Flint too. He decided to take no notice of the helpful gesture and dragged himself down to the crew on his own.

The men were staring at him silently and he felt a cold shiver running up his spine.

“They’re dead,” he announced huskily. Triumphant grins appeared on the emotionless faces. “But it’s not over just yet. We found only six guards; six men to guard a fort that once guarded the whole island. I’m not going to believe that these six were the entire force Rogers had left—”

“At least the two of you survived the evening.” Flint looked at Billy, eyebrows furrowed, but he went on. “We didn’t think you’d be able to kill everyone inside that fort without getting yourselves killed too. Good thing Silver wasn’t wrong.”

“Good thing,” Flint repeated. John really had not been wrong; his plan had worked, no matter how dangerous and stupid it had seemed to be. Not more than two men entering the fort secretly to murder all guards; the others waiting for them outside to make sure no one escapes—even from John, it was a truly surprising stroke of genius. Which had only worked because John had estimated the number of guards startlingly correctly.

He felt a sudden rush of warmth inside his chest; but as he wanted to grin proudly at John, something twitched inside his guts.

“Good thing,” he said again, and John answered with a shy smile. Flint turned back to the crew. “Now, we must get to the end of Silver’s plan before Rogers finds out what we’ve just done to his fort. I need six men to go and guard it; a tiny surprise for our dear Governor.”

Sounds of inefficiently suppressed chuckling were heard, and six men stepped out of the group without needing to discuss who these six were going to to be. Flint silently admired the power of Billy and John, the two whose presence kept the crew sane and collected.

“The others will follow me and Billy to Rogers’ current shelter,” he continued, “and we’ll surprise those who remain there, even after realising they have lost the fort. Am I right?”

He glanced at John who just nodded; he was probably still exhausted because of the long hiking. Flint clenched his fist. He was not ready to do this, not yet; or that was what he tried to convince himself of.

Actually, he had been ready for too long.

“But, before we all leave and do what has to be done, there is one last thing I’d like to hear.” Flint took a sharp breath. “Where did you get the information from?”

He was not looking at anyone now, but they both knew whom the question had been asked. John pushed Billy away carefully.

“I have my sources, Captain, and I can assure you that they have earned my trust.” Quiet thuds in the sand as he stepped closer and closer. Flint turned his head slowly to face him. “They have given me the right pieces of information several times; and it’s thanks to them that we could take the fort without being killed. So I am most certain that the place where I believe the Governor to be residing is correct; and soon we all can ascertain this.”

Flint did not notice when they had got so close to each other, but there he was now, standing only inches away from John.

“However, there is something I could have told you earlier, but I haven’t found the right way to do it; not till now. As you all know, as life has taught it to all of you, there are very few men in this world who deserve your trust; and even though my current source is one of them, a couple of months ago I have learned about someone else who is most certainly not. Which is not an unusual thing to happen; the only problem is that all of us, every single one of us has been relying on this man for too long.”

John’s voice may have broken for a second, Flint was not sure, but then he went on with such power and confidence that some of the men actually took a step back.

“This is a man who has lied to us; who has exploited us; who has jeopardised our lives to fulfil his own dreams of a bloody vendetta. But this is coming to an end tonight, as I reveal what lies behind all the false stories he has told us.” He finally looked Flint in the eye; his face blank, cold, ruthless. “It’s one single secret, buried deep inside his past, that he knows should make a man feel ashamed. It’s the loss of a loved one, murdered by the relationship he had to him. And now—it’s the loss of me.”

He leaned in and Flint did not waste a moment. He grabbed Silver by the waist, pulled him close enough to feel the warmth of his body, and pressed his lips against his. Silver gasped, then kissed him back, with hard teeth and soft tongue and a strange intensity.

The men watched without saying a word, and Flint pushed him away.

His eyes were still focused on Silver, but he could clearly see the first red uniform appear in the corner of his vision. What he did not see was Billy’s movement, quick and conscious, as he instinctively reached for his pistol and fired. The sound made Flint shudder.

“Don’t,” he said, and Billy lowered his arm. The soldier was lying in the sand. “Don’t get yourself killed when you can drop your weapon and take a pardon instead.”

“You can’t be serious.” It was Silver again who spoke, and Flint turned his attention back to him.

“You shut your mouth,” he hissed, and tugged hard at his hair. Silver groaned in pain, and for just a moment there was a spark in those blue eyes, the one usually followed by a few minutes of wrestling for dominance then the desperate begging for being fucked. Now it disappeared as soon as it had come into being, and gave its place over to something frustrated and aggressive. Flint held his head in place strong, and Silver ground his teeth helplessly, until Flint leaned in to kiss him again.

“You fucking judas,” he hissed into his mouth, and Silver—his quartermaster, his lover, his fucking _end_ —Silver did not say anything.

 

_“So you basically let him fuck you.”_

_“More precisely, I made him fuck me.”_

_“Jesus.” Billy buried his face in his palms. “Why the hell would you do that?”_

_“To see if I can get any closer to him.”_

_“I guess fucking each other is close enough.”_

_“I didn’t mean the physical way.” Billy looked up and he took the opportunity to pull him near enough to whisper into his ears. “I want to see everything that’s hidden inside that dark soul of his. Hell, I want to be inside that soul.”_

_“That almost sounds like you’re addicted to him.”_

_“Worse.” He swallowed hard and lowered his voice even more. “To me, it sounded like I was caring about him.”_

_Billy could not help smirking. “Progress, huh?”_

_Silver would have loved to punch that stupid grin off his face._

 

Outside his cell, there were two men fighting. One with his words, the other probably with his bare hands, since everything else had been taken from him on the beach.

“He fucking told you not to try and rescue him.”

“And you fucking told me you liked him; none of these words matter to me that much now.”

There was silence for a moment, then Silver spoke again.

“Look, I’m sorry for disappointing you, I truly am. And I swear this is not how I wanted this to end.”

“Then why did you end it like this?” Billy did not sound angry or upset anymore; it was pure sadness that Flint heard in his voice. “He was about to fight a war for a place where we could be free from law, from taxes, from debts—”

“All you ever wanted was to be free of _him_ ,” Silver interrupted. “Don’t jeopardise your life for him now that you have your freedom.”

His words were not even close to the sly reasoning he had performed on the beach; he was keeping pauses in the middle of a sentence and putting stress to irrelevant places, and his voice was cracked like he had drunk. Hell, it was Silver, of course he had. He would have done anything to make himself believe he was on his way to a safe and comfortable life, far away from the sea.

Billy cleared his throat.

“Why the Biblical reference?” he asked. Silver sounded like he was choking on something, likely a mouthful of rum.

“What reference?”

“He called you a judas. Not a traitor or a conspirator or whatever word normal people would have used. He called you a fucking judas.”

Silver let out something that was short, sad and quite similar to a laugh. “He told me the story of Judas’ betrayal once. I’m pretty sure he’s thinking that I didn’t have the brains to betray him in a more unique way.”

There was a pause, then loud dumps on the floor; Flint could almost sense the two men begin to panic. He did not need to see through the heavy door of the room he had been locked in to know exactly what was happening—the dumps meant boots, and the boots meant the arrival of his two guards.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Flint expected Silver to answer, but the next voice he heard belonged to Billy.

“Trying to drag my drunken friend out of the building. He thought this was the brothel, God knows why. So if you would let us—”

“I’ve seen you today.” The second guard sounded cold and sharp. “On the beach, with the man whose cell your friend found by accident.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Flint found himself breathless for a second.

“I’m talking about the evening when you shot one of us to save your captain.”

“My captain. Christ, I have no captain; I only have a friend who’s going to puke on this fucking floor if I can’t take him out in time!”

“I fucking saw you murdering my fellow to save Flint’s skin.”

“And I have no fucking idea who you’re talking about!”

Flint could hear Silver gasp, and his already wide grin deformed into a grotesque grimace. It was his Judas’ turn to put an end to the story. And Flint had made sure he knew how to.

 

_“Jesus answered, He it is, to whom I shall give a sop, when I have dipped it. And when he had dipped the sop, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon. And after the sop Satan entered into him. Then said Jesus unto him, That thou doest, do quickly. Now no man at the table knew for what intent he spake this unto him.”_

_John 13:26-28_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this, I was so excited to share it with you! Any kind of feedback is appreciated ^^
> 
> Find me on tumblr: [stuckinthosefandoms](http://stuckinthosefandoms.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, I'm not a native speaker so feel free to correct me if you find any mistakes.


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